


Jenny Danced with her Ghosts.

by Ophelia_the_Grey



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Post battle of Winterfell, Violence, lotta people didnt make it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 08:44:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18567892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelia_the_Grey/pseuds/Ophelia_the_Grey
Summary: Post-Battle for Winterfell, the living flee to the South.





	Jenny Danced with her Ghosts.

For a moment Sansa thought she heard her father’s voice, “To the south. To the south.” No please Father, not again, she thought. I cannot go back. 

Jon’s gaunt face whipped to look at her, urging her to move forward. Daenerys commanded the front, leading with her last dragon flying overhead with the remnants of her Unsullied behind her. A short line of Northern survivors made up the rest of the pack.

Brienne had to drag Sansa from the ruins of Winterfell, away from Bran and Theon's bodies in the Godswood. “I cannot leave them. I will never leave the halls again,” she wailed. Arya had died in the courtyard, Sansa had clutched her hands, willing them to bring her sister back to her. Brienne had to pick her up and carry her out of the ruins of her home. “I cannot go back,” Sansa pleaded, “Please do not make me.”

But she could not go home. She could only go forward. To the South. To King’s Landing. There was nothing left. Winter had come and Winterfell fell. The only thing left was ice and the dead. Arya. Bran. Theon. Lord Royce. Podrick. Jaime. Greyworm. All dead. All ghosts. Their bodies strewn, protecting these last few long enough for them to escape South. All that was left were the guilty living. 

Sansa stood as the lone Stark, the Lady of Winterfell had abandoned her people in the face of survival. The Night King had taken it all. Her home, her lands, all taken by winter. He had even desecrated her family’s final rest. Sansa remembered Arya’s screams as the Night King animated her Father, his head tucked under his arm, and her Mother, bloodied and mute. Robb and Rickon running after Arya in the courtyard; like they did as children, but lost to the Night King. From above Sansa could only observe, like a little dove while the dead killed the innocent living. 

“We must move, Sansa,” Jon urged her gently. Jon. Aegon Targaryen. No longer a Stark. She truly was the last of the Starks. The last of the North.

One of the near-dead horses collapsed in front of her with Lady Lyanna toppling down. Jon quickly dismounted, pulling the Lady of Bear Island to her feet. Sansa saw its leg twitch before Tormund quickly put it out of its misery.

“Take my horse Lady Lyanna.”  
“I will not-” Jon hoisted her up, uncaring of her retorts. He had already taken a great deal of ordering to get her to abandon Winterfell. 

Jon moved back to Sansa’s horse, clutching the reigns of her own nearly dead horse. Silently, he walked beside her. She saw a tear roll down his face. Sansa moved her hand up the bridle, placing it over his own. He clenched it over hers in a calm familiarity. They were all they had left.

Sansa and Jon were all that remained of the North. Her icy stare betraying nothing but the cold deadness she felt after the Loss of Winterfell. His was one of duty and honor, replicated only by Ned Stark. They could not go home, so they must become something different.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick crap.


End file.
